Page 19 of Tender Blackguard

Chapter Seven

On the other side of the servants’ entrance to the dining room, Lark directed the maids as they brought up the first course from the kitchens. The serving trays were then passed off to the footmen, who carried the food to the dining table and the marquess’s guests. Once everything needed to start the meal was served and the female servants returned to the kitchen to finish prepping the next course, Lark cracked open the door to assess the presentation.

The footmen stood off to the side, silently watching for empty glasses that needed filling, dropped forks that required replacement, or any other prompt for intervention.

The tone at the dinner table was subdued. Conversation flowed at a low hum, but there was an underlying tension in the room. If she had to guess, she’d say the marquess and his guests were not well known to each other.

Curious, Lark stole a look at the lady seated to Warfield’s right. She was young—likely younger than Lark herself—and pretty in her gown of robin’s-egg blue with her dark auburn hair. There was a natural aristocracy in her demeanor and a kind intelligence in her gaze. Of the three of them, she appeared the most relaxed.

To the lady’s side sat a large, muscled man with fair hair tied back at his nape and a deep gravelly voice. Something about him seemed oddly familiar. When he turned his head to whisper something to the auburn-haired lady that made her smile secretively, Lark got a good look at his profile and nearly gasped her shock out loud.

She’d seen him before, only once, but the experience had been indelibly burned into her memory. The broad-shouldered guest was none other than Mason Hale, also known as the Undefeated. A celebrated bare-knuckle boxer who used to take on any and all challengers in the East End. Lark had witnessed his final bout before he’d retired a number of years ago, and she recalled every moment of that fight.

What on earth had brought Mason Hale to the Marquess of Warfield’s dining room?

“A shocking sight, isn’t it, Mrs. Evans?”

Gideon spoke from over her shoulder. It was a testament to her shock, indeed, that he’d managed to step up behind her without her noticing.

“What is?” she muttered, glancing at the butler.

He gave a stoic nod toward the dining room. “The Undefeated seated not twenty meters away, dining with the marquess.”

Lark heard the mixture of censure and awe in the man’s voice. The corner of her mouth curled as she noted slyly, “You were an admirer.”

Gideon scoffed. “Wasn’t everyone? He’s a right beast in the ring. I was lucky enough to catch almost every one of his bouts.”

“I only saw his last.”

“Truly?” The butler’s brows shot upward. “At the White Hare in Covent Garden?”

Lark smiled and gave a nod as she gazed back into the dining room. “Is he a friend to the marquess?”

“Soon to be family, I understand.”

“You’re joking,” she gasped in earnest surprise.

“Not at all. That is Lady Katherine Blackwell, sister to the Duke of Northmoor and cousin to the marquess. I understand Lady Katherine and Mr. Hale are engaged to be married.”

Shock arced through her. “That can’t be possible. The sister of a duke cannot marry a commoner, let alone a bruiser of the East End.”

The butler harrumphed. “Seems to me the sister of a duke can do whatever she wants.” Lowering his voice, he added, “And I wouldn’t like to be the man to tell the Undefeated he can’t marry who he chooses.”

Lark studied the couple more closely. Now that she knew their association, it was easy to see they were enamored with each other. Though the signs were much more subtle in the lady, the heat and possession in the former fighter’s gaze were almost embarrassing to witness.

She glanced to the marquess, wondering what he thought of his cousin’s match.

Warfield sat straight and stiff at the head of the table. His gaze was as cool as ever, his expression unsmiling. When he glanced to Mr. Hale, she thought she saw something close to irritation in his gaze. But when he shifted his attention to Lady Katherine in order to reply to something she said, Lark noted a slightly softer affect in the marquess’s manner.

She’d guess he had some affection for the lady. Or, at the very least, a favorable regard.

Fascinating.

Any further consideration of the guests was delayed as the kitchen maids arrived with the next course. A flurry of activity followed as the footmen cleared away the empty dishes and replaced them with the next steaming dish. The rest of the meal flowed effortlessly as Lark moved between overseeing the dining room and checking on Mrs. Reynard to ensure she had all she needed. A few hours later, the last dessert dishes were cleared from the table, and the marquess and his guests returned to the parlor.

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